


A Place To Rest

by capt_eli



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capt_eli/pseuds/capt_eli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balthier and Al-Cid share a lazy morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place To Rest

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if any of this is odd or rushed. I wrote half of it in an economics class and half at midnight and at this point, I just want to post it and be done. I also apologize for being terrible at titles and worse at summaries.

A phone was ringing. Balthier slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes. His apartment was pitch black save for the lit screen of his cell phone. With a frown and a growl, he answered, not checking nor caring to see who was calling. “Are you aware that the sun has not yet risen?” he spat.

A familiar laugh answered. “One must adjust after entering a country. Even I am not so well traveled that time zones do not affect me.”

Balthier raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly despite the ungodly hour, his mood softening. It had been quite some time since he last heard that voice. “What do you want?”

“Has your address changed since last I visited?” Al-Cid sounded far more awake than Balthier felt, and damn him for it.

Balthier stared through the darkness, wary of Al-Cid’s intentions. “No, it hasn’t,” he said slowly.

“Perfect! If you could be so kind as to leave the door unlocked, I—”

“Now wait a minute, Margrace!” Balthier rubbed his forehead, squeezed his eyes shut. He was not prone to outbursts but he could hardly keep up with the man’s follies in the daytime, much less in the middle of the night. “I consider myself to be a patient man, but if you think I’ll put up with you waking me and welcoming yourself into my home uninvited at—” he quickly looked at the screen and grimaced, “—three in the morning, then you are sorely mistaken.”

Al-Cid laughed again. If it weren’t for his quickly dwindling energy and the ridiculous price for a good cell phone these days, Balthier would have thrown the damned thing against a wall.

“Please listen,” Al-Cid said, smile evident in his voice. “Unlock the door and go back to sleep. I will bring breakfast and I will be quiet. I want only a place to rest.”

Balthier mulled it over, half asleep again, and sighed dramatically. “It would be nice to have breakfast ready when I wake. Well, you know, at the time _normal_ people wake.” He stood and stretched, shuffling expertly through the darkness to the door.

“Wonderful, I will be there shortly!” Al-Cid said cheerfully.

“Yes, yes, just keep quiet or I may strangle you.” Balthier unlocked the door and returned to his bed, hanging up somewhere in-between.

\- - - - - -

Balthier stirred lightly when a heavy weight settled on the other side of his bed. He moved toward the warmth and familiar scent. A hand rested on his back and Balthier continued to sleep.

\- - - - - -

When he woke, he was laying on his stomach, an arm draped across his lower back. His face was turned to the side, inches from Al-Cid’s neck, and for a while he was content to stay and breathe in the spice of his guest’s cologne.

The sun began to peek through the blinds, casting a soft light on the wall. Balthier pushed himself up, shrugged off Al-Cid’s arm, ignored the slight stick of sweat there. His apartment smelled like coffee and he let his nose lead him to the kitchen.

As Al-Cid promised, there was a large box from a 24-hour bakery that Balthier was quite fond of; their pastries were delicious and the hours suited his often haphazard schedule. It seemed Al-Cid had also put on a pot of coffee and, judging by the smell, it was nearly twice as strong as usual. Still, it was a good show of courtesy, especially considering he provided enough baked goods for a small army.

Not to be outdone in their game of one-upmanship, Balthier prepared two mugs, diluting his with tap water before adding his customary two spoonfuls of sugar. With the mugs in one hand and the box in the other, he returned to his room where Al-Cid was just beginning to stir.

“Breakfast time, sleeping beauty,” Balthier announced, maneuvering to sit cross-legged on the bed without spilling the coffee.

Al-Cid sat up and stretched, showing off tan skin and dark hair. Sometime before he fell asleep, he had removed and folded his shirt, now placed neatly on the bedside table. Balthier hadn’t bothered putting one on after his shower last night, glad he at least opted for pajama pants.

“You think I am a beauty?” Al-Cid grinned sleepily and accepted the mug. “How flattering.”

Balthier snorted, opening the box and picking out a doughnut. “More of a beast, really, but it hasn’t got the same ring to it.” Al-Cid chuckled and sipped his coffee.

“You know,” Balthier said around a bite of pastry, “if you’re going to make it that strong, you may as well just eat coffee grounds.”

Al-Cid pulled a biscotti from underneath a croissant. “It is not my fault that this country drinks such weak brews.”

“Whatever.” Balthier took a long drink and eyed the chocolate cookie carefully. “If you leave a single crumb in my sheets, I’ll make you clean the whole apartment.”

“I would not dare.”

The two ate in comfortable silence until Balthier downed the last of his coffee. “What brings you here?” he asked amiably, setting his mug on the side table. “Business?”

“No.” Al-Cid set his mug down and reclined against the copious pillows Balthier kept on his bed. “I have been so busy lately, I needed to come home and rest.”

Balthier snorted a laugh. “If you meant to go home, you’ve landed in the wrong country.”

“Home is wherever one wants to be most at any given time,” the Rozzarian answered easily.

“And would that be Dalmasca or my apartment?"

“Which do you think?” Al-Cid grinned. Balthier was very familiar with that grin; it made him want to both smile back and smother him at once. “I have yet to receive a proper welcome, you know.”

Smothering was sounding like the best idea.

“A proper welcome! After inviting yourself in and—oh,” Balthier sighed and gave up. There was hardly a point in arguing with the man, especially when he sat up, still grinning, expectant. Balthier leaned over the bakery box, a mumbled “proper welcome, my arse” lost against Al-Cid’s mouth. Dark stubble scratched his chin and he put a hand on Al-Cid’s thigh for balance. Balthier licked Al-Cid’s lips and tasted sugar and too-bitter coffee. He pulled away just as Al-Cid brushed fingertips over the side of his neck. “Proper enough?”

Al-Cid’s hand dropped to his lap and the grin was back, if a bit softer. “I would say it is a good start.”

Balthier laughed. He stood, gathering the box and empty mugs. “How long are you in town?”

“As long as I like.”

Balthier considered this before turning to the door. “Good.”


End file.
